


Sparrow

by Anythingtoasted



Series: Adventures in the Batcave [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Batcave Fluff, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-06
Updated: 2013-04-06
Packaged: 2017-12-07 15:43:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/750212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anythingtoasted/pseuds/Anythingtoasted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>cas and birds. prompt from tumblr. fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sparrow

Maybe the flower child is just  _in_ Castiel; maybe he just grew up a little sideways, a little ‘different’, and that’s why he does stuff like this; Dean doesn’t know.

He found Castiel outside the headquarters in jeans and one of his old shirts, hair a mess. Standing where he was, Dean could only see his back. He was sitting down,  and perched on his shoulders, like knots in a line of thread, were six tiny birds.

“Cas?” he said; cautious because the whole scene was a little reminiscent of the naked bees thing; a sad, not at all funny episode Dean would much rather forget; but the angel turned, slowly, careful not to dislodge his little passengers, and his eyes were bright, and he smiled – soft, not manic. Lines creased around his eyes.

“Be careful.” Castiel said, in a low voice, and Dean walked over as quietly and gently as he could, thankful that he came out in bare feet, and left his clunky boots behind. He got to within about a foot of Castiel, and stopped.

“So, uh. Snow White.” Dean smiled at him, and it was genuine, if a little bewildered. “You wanna introduce me to your new friends?”

The bird feeders were, of course, Sam’s idea. Fallen, Castiel was easily bored, and too polite to complain about it – verbally, at least. He took, after recovering from his injuries, to laying in random places throughout the headquarters and sighing heavily, hands folded on his chest, chin tipped back, martyr-like. Too weak, yet, to join them on hunts – and  _shockingly_ resentful about it – he had a lot of spare time, and though television interested him, he needed more than that to keep him stimulated. Hence; the bird feeders.

Castiel had taken to it like a duck to water; went outside every day to sit with them, watching them (Dean was pretty sure he talked to them, too, but he’d never asked). Dean had never really been out here with him before; he’d helped Sam and Cas hang them, but that was about it. Now, though – Castiel sits there, placid and _happy,_ and the birds on his shoulders tweet softly, dipping their little heads, fluttering their wings. Dean lowers himself to sit on the ground beside Castiel, with his knees splayed in front of him.

“They don’t have names, Dean.” Castiel told him, tilting his head to the side; a bird on his shoulder, small and brown, nuzzled his nose with its beak. “Few animals do.”

Dean murmured his interest. “Good to know.” He looked at the birds, which were twittering in Castiel’s ear, and then back at the angel’s face. “You okay out here, Cas?”

Castiel nodded, and lifted his hand, slow, to his shoulder; his fingers outstretched. One of the birds hopped onto his middle finger, apparently content to go wherever Castiel wanted him. Dean watched, mystified. “I’m fine.” He said mildly, eyes on the bird, then looked back up at Dean, and smiled. “They  _like me,_ don’t they?” he asked, and Dean was shockingly, achingly reminded of Sam finding a puppy when they were younger, a stray, and begging to keep it.

He reached out a hand to the bird on Castiel’s finger, and it hopped away from him; his fingers collided with Castiel’s, instead. The angel pushed his hand forward; interlaced  his fingers loosely with Dean’s own. “Yeah, they like you.” He said, softly, unable to take his eyes off Castiel’s hand, off their hands, together.

There was a long moment; the bird hopped onto Castiel’s elbow, then back onto his shoulder again, jostling the other creatures bossily. Dean smiled at it; entwined his hand more firmly with Castiel’s, and squeezed; then let him go. He pushed himself to his feet.

“You cold?” he asked, and Castiel shook his head – but Dean went inside and came out a couple of minutes later anyway, blankets over one arm, steaming mugs in hand. Castiel looked up at him.

“I thought you didn’t like them.” He said, and Dean shrugged as he sat down again, at his side.

“I dunno.” He said mildly; then, quieter, passing Castiel his mug of cocoa with careful hands, “They sorta remind me of you.”


End file.
